A Test Of Faith
by Steff
Summary: Delia Busby begins her training as a Midwife.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary** : Delia Busby starts Midwifery Training

 **Disclaimer** : Call The Midwife belongs to the BBC and others - I am simply borrowing their wonderful characters.

 **Author's note:** Cross posted from Archive of Our Own. This is not my usual Patsy/Delia fic. I have tried to write a story that is much more similar to an actual episode of Call the Midwife. I have tried to include most of the regular characters - mainly because I very rarely write some of them. I'm not sure if this sort of story line has been done on the show before as I've only seen series 4 and 5. I think I have captured the emotional feel of the show, but I'd be happy to hear your thoughts about it.

My grateful thanks as always to Sittingonthis for her invaluable input into this. It has taken a long while for me to compose this, and it now looks very different to when I first started it. Thanks too must go to Jlynnsca for her wonderful editing skills.

* * *

"Hop up onto the couch, Mrs Jenkins," Shelagh Turner invited.

"I keep telling you to call me Sally," the woman scolded as she did as she was told.

Shelagh smiled amiably. "I can't help it. It's force of habit. How are you feeling today?" The Scottish nurse glanced through the manila folder of notes as she asked.

"Tired. Permanently tired. It's much worse than the last," Sally replied, rubbing her tummy absently.

"That's only to be expected at..." Shelagh trailed off as she realised her potential faux pas.

"At my age? Don't worry, nurse. I keep telling myself I shouldn't be having babies at my age either. I think this one needs to be my last," Mrs Jenkins decided, smiling.

"Well, let's just look after the little one you have here, shall we?" Nurse Turner's soft Scottish brogue was as reassuring as ever as she began her exam. "Your blood pressure's a little high, so we'll need to keep an eye on that."

"Pre-eclampsia? Yeah, we went through all that for the last one," Sally commented.

"You're practically as knowledgeable as I am," Nurse Turner agreed. "And all yours is through experience. So, does anything feel different this time? Now you've gone through seven pregnancies, I think it's perfectly reasonable to ask you if you're not feeling quite right."

"Other than being tired you mean?"

Shelagh looked over her glasses at the brunette. "Yes," she confirmed.

Mrs Jenkins shook her head. "Nothing really," she stated.

Shelagh reviewed the rest of the observations she had just taken. "Alright," she commented. "Well, other than a blood pressure that I would expect to be a little higher, frankly, I think we are all doing just fine," she declared. She frowned as she recalled something. "Didn't you mention something about going into the hospital for the delivery of this one?"

"That's right," Mrs Jenkins replied. "My husband booked me in. He says I shouldn't be taking risks giving birth at home."

"We are all quite skilled you know," Shelagh replied, feeling a little slighted by the move.

"Oh, I know that. But you know what my Harry is like. He's insisted. I'd rather have any one of you midwives from Nonnatus help, but he wouldn't stop going on about it after he read the leaflet." Mrs Jenkins sounded apologetic.

Nurse Turner was instantly contrite. "Don't worry. It's your choice where you wish to go. We're more than happy to see you for a little while longer but you might want to consider using their local services in order to keep all your notes together. These things have a habit of getting lost."

Mrs Jenkins nodded. "If I'm honest, I'm looking forward to going in and having a rest. It'll make a nice change not to have to worry about the washing and cooking for a few days."

"Is Mr Jenkins prepared?" Nurse Turner asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

"He better be."

* * *

"Stand up straight Nurse Busby," Nurse Crane commanded as she stood before the new trainee midwife. The senior nurse looked at the young woman's uniform and polished shoes critically, circling round before making a minute adjustment to the collar of her cape. "You'll do, I suppose," she decided eventually.

Behind Nurse Crane, and therefore out of sight, midwives Mount, Franklin and Gilbert stood pulling various faces at Delia as she tried her best to ignore them.

"If you three have finished your larking about, perhaps you'll ensure that your kit bags are ready for today?" Nurse Crane didn't even turn around as she spoke, instead keeping her gaze focused firmly on Nurse Busby. Hurried footsteps indicated that she had made her point.

"This is a marvellous opportunity for us to understand exactly what can be offered in a hospital for our expectant mothers," she told Delia. "Although I am still a firm proponent in the belief that our ladies are not sick and therefore do not need to attend a hospital."

She huffed slightly before softening, noticing Nurse Busby's nervousness. "I know you want to be out in the community, but a placement there will give you excellent grounding. Maximise your time at the Maternity Hospital, Nurse Busby. You will be our link to the future for midwifery. I'm relying on you." Nurse Crane fixed the small brunette with a hard stare before winking slightly. "Go get them, kid. I'm proud of you."

Delia couldn't help but grin back as she spun on her heel and made her way to the bicycle shed. As she pulled her bike from the rack she heard another set of footsteps approaching. She turned to see Patsy walk towards her, a proud grin on her face. "Come to wave me off?"

"Yes. And wish you luck. Although I'm sure you won't need it." Patsy picked at some non-existent fluff on Delia's cape. "I can't tell you how much I was wishing it was me making the final adjustments to your uniform this morning."

Delia blushed. "It's just a uniform. You have the same one."

"It looks different on you," Patsy countered, watching Delia's blush deepen. "I might have to ask you to keep it on later."

"Pats!" Delia feigned outrage. She glanced at her watch. "I have to get going. Don't worry, I'll be careful," she assured, catching the look of worry that ghosted across the red-head's features.

"I'll see you tonight," Patsy promised as she waved the brunette off. As soon as Delia was out of sight, she spun on her heel and hurried back to the preparation room. Nurse Crane would not tolerate any tardiness.

* * *

Trainee midwife Delia Busby formed part of the gaggle of students following the Obstetrics Consultant as he made assessments of the women due to give birth at the Maternity Hospital. They halted in a ragged group in front of the next bed.

The consultant picked up the chart that hung at the foot of the bed and flipped through the notes quickly before looking at the patient. Delia bristled slightly; she could see that the woman was nervous and she looked uncomfortable, too. It didn't take much to provide a bit of assurance but the consultant was clearly only interested in getting through the list.

"Ah, Mrs. Jenkins." Dr. Benson began. "According to your notes you came in last night with abdominal pain."

The patient, a thin, dark-haired woman in her early 40s nodded.

"And you're 36 weeks pregnant?" He was merely confirming the information that had been recorded. Again the woman nodded.

"How are you feeling today?"

Mrs. Jenkins swallowed nervously. "I've still got a bit of pain." She rubbed her swollen belly unconsciously as she spoke. Delia was convinced she was under playing her discomfort.

"Well, your observations all look normal. Pulse and blood pressure are all fine. Apyrexic. Any dizziness? Spots before your eyes? That sort of thing?" The questions were fired off rapidly.

Mrs Jenkins shook her head in response. "No. It's just the pain. I've never had anything like that before."

Dr. Benson, a portly man in his early 60s, looked over his half-moon spectacles at her. "How many pregnancies have you had?"

"This is my seventh. I've got five children."

"Thank you." He smiled at her curtly before looking at the group of student midwives. "Well, do any of you have an opinion on what we should do with Mrs. Jenkins?"

Delia bit her tongue. It was all very well being brusque with his own questioning, but the consultant should have at least advised the patient that he was going to discuss her case so openly with the group and explained their presence.

Someone to her left spoke up. "Brixton Hicks contractions? Given the length of gestation and no other symptoms, it looks like false labour."

"Very good," Dr. Benson commended quickly and he turned back to the patient. "You're not quite ready yet. Back home for you for another fortnight, I think." He started make notes at the bottom of the page.

"Wait a minute," Delia interjected. "Mrs Jenkins said that she's never had pain like it before. She's got five children. Surely she's had Braxton Hicks before?"

Dr. Benson looked up irritably; he had clearly already made up his mind. "What are you suggesting, Nurse?"

Delia shifted, nervous by the scrutiny, but she wouldn't simply stay quiet when she had concerns. She looked at Mrs Jenkins and smiled apologetically before speaking again. "Mrs. Jenkins is complaining of continuous pain. Given her age and the number of pregnancies she has had, shouldn't we be worried about something else?"

Dr. Benson raised an eyebrow. "Should we?"

Delia tried to explain. "I mean, I remember reading something about continuous pain being an indicator for..." She trailed off as she saw Dr Benson scowl at her.

"Are you suggesting that I wouldn't know what signs and symptoms might indicate, Nurse?"

Delia's eyes widened suddenly. "No, absolutely not."

"I must say it's rather unusual to find a nurse who automatically thinks of the worst possible outcomes. You're usually all so optimistic." Dr. Benson smiled tightly at the rest of the group who giggled slightly at his jest but it was clear that he was annoyed.

"I'm sorry sir. I'm just concerned," Delia continued.

Dr Benson sighed heavily. "Listen Nurse...?"

"Busby, sir."

"Nurse Busby." He looked down at her with a slight moue of disgust. "I have been an Obstetrics consultant for 25 years. Do you know how many obstetrics emergencies I've had to deal with?"

"Sir, I was just suggesting that there might be another cause for the pain." Delia could feel every pair of eyes on her now, including the Matron who looked distinctly disapproving.

"And are you also suggesting that I would neglect to consider all the causes?" Dr. Benson was angry now.

This was rapidly getting out of control, Delia realised. "No sir, but I was reading something..."

"And there it is," the consultant interrupted as he smiled condescendingly. "You may be book smart, Nurse Busby but I have years of experience in diagnosing and managing patients." He looked back down to the chart and carried on writing his notes.

"But, sir." Delia didn't know when to quit.

"That is quite enough, Nurse Busby," Matron Cox admonished sternly.

Delia clenched her jaw to stop herself responding to the Matron.

Dr. Benson looked over his spectacles at the patient. "So sorry you had to hear that." He finished the notes with a flourish and stabbed his pen onto the paper to place a full stop. The gesture signified that he considered the discussion to be over. Dr .Benson handed the board to the Matron before making his way to the next bed.

Delia could feel her cheeks burn with embarrassment and anger. She had been publicly admonished for raising what she believed to be a legitimate concern. She had also successfully managed to get into both Dr. Benson and the Matron's bad books. This was not the start to the placement she was hoping for. She just hoped that it didn't get back to Nurse Crane and Sister Julienne. Delia sighed heavily and was just about to follow the group when she heard a voice and turned round.

"Nurse?"

Delia smiled apologetically. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Jenkins. You shouldn't have had to see or hear that."

Mrs Jenkins smiled back, but it was broken as she winced in pain again. "I just wanted to say thank you, Nurse Busby." She had caught Delia's name from the exchange. "It was nice of you to stick up for me."

"It didn't do much good," Delia admitted.

"I'm beginning to wish I hadn't listened to my husband and decided to have my baby at home. At least I was treated like a human being." She sighed. "You never said what you thought I might have."

Delia winced. "I'm not allowed to diagnose, Mrs. Jenkins. We simply get asked our opinions to check on our levels of understanding," she explained.

"But the doctor said you were wrong."

Delia couldn't lie. She was worried. "The doctor thinks you're experiencing Braxton Hicks contractions."

"But I've had false labour before. I've got five kids. I told that nice Scottish nurse that." Mrs Jenkins was indignant.

Delia wondered why the woman had not found her voice in front of Dr Benson, but also recognised that many patients were too cowed by the presence of consultants to do anything other than what they were told. "Perhaps you should speak to the Matron again. Or ask to see Dr. Benson. Are you still in pain?"

Mrs Jenkins nodded. "They keep telling me to rest, and not to worry." She looked at Delia critically. "You're very kind. You're the first one here that's actually take the time to listen to me."

"Patients are our best source of information for diagnosis," Delia told her cheerfully. "And I happen to like talking to patients."

"I don't think you fit in here, Nurse Busby. You find a place called Nonnatus House, and be a midwife there. You'd fit right in there."

Delia grinned. "I already lodge there, Mrs. Jenkins. And don't worry. I fully intend being a community midwife. This is far too impersonal."

Mrs. Jenkins sat up and clasped Delia's hand. "Don't fret nurse. And don't give up sticking up for us patients."

Delia squeezed Mrs. Jenkins' hand. "Good luck with the baby, Mrs Jenkins. And don't stop pestering people if you still feel unwell. Promise me you'll get help if your pain gets any worse."

"I promise," Mrs. Jenkins vowed with a soft smile.

"Nurse Busby!" Matron's severe bark gained Delia's attention instantly and she swung round. "We have moved on to the rest of the patients, Nurse Busby. Or is it your intention to only deal with one per day?"

Delia bit back a retort and quickly squeezed Mrs. Jenkins' hand again. "Look after yourself," she whispered before hurriedly catching up with the rest of the group.

Matron looked absolutely furious. "You will see me in my office at the end of your shift, Nurse Busby."

Delia nodded, knowing that a dressing down was coming. "Yes, Matron."

* * *

Delia tugged the door to Nonnatus House shut behind her and headed wearily for the stairs. At the end of her shift, she had been given a stern reprimand from Matron and was joined by Dr. Benson for good measure. She had reached the first landing when she heard her name being called.

"Nurse Busby. Is that you?" Nurse Crane's clear northern tone carried through the convent.

Delia turned on her heel and descended the stairs. "Yes, Nurse Crane," she called back, once she was in closer proximity. The last thing she wanted to happen now was to be told off for shouting.

"You're late," Nurse Crane commented tersely as she emerged from the Clinical Room.

"I was detained after my shift," Delia explained before frowning. "I'm sorry, Nurse Crane. Did I have an appointment with you?"

"Not until I received a telephone call from the hospital, but now you do," the tall nurse told her brusquely.

"What did you hear from the hospital?" Delia asked, a sinking feeling developing in her stomach.

"I do not expect nurses from Nonnatus House to be rude and disrespectful to medical colleagues at other establishments." Nurse Crane had warmed to her subject now.

Delia's shoulders drooped. That was all she needed. "I'm sorry, Nurse Crane," she stated, trying to defuse Nurse Crane's mood.

"What were you thinking? Telling a consultant that he was wrong?"

Delia tensed. "That wasn't what happened, Nurse Crane."

"That's not what Matron Cox told me."

Delia gritted her teeth. She had the distinct impression that nothing she said would make a difference right now. "I'm sorry," she repeated softly.

"Hmm." Phyllis studied her with a beady eye and realised that Delia was already feeling dejected enough. "We'll talk after dinner about how to address consultants," she advised and spun on her heel to head back into the Clinical Room.

Delia hurried to her room and got changed, feeling a fraud in the light blue of the Midwifery uniform. She sat at the desk and flipped open a textbook, seeking confirmation that she had been right to raise concerns.

* * *

Shelagh pushed her shepherd's pie around her plate but was in no real mood to eat. Patrick looked up from his meal and frowned. "What's bothering you?" He asked.

Shelagh smiled softly at her husband. "Oh, nothing really. I'm just beginning to wonder how long community midwives will be needed," she admitted.

The craggy faced man frowned. "What's provoked this?"

Shelagh sighed as she laid down her fork. "Oh, another expectant mother told me that she was using the Maternity Hospital to give birth. That's the third one this week."

"Well, it's a sterile, safe environment," her husband reasoned.

Shelagh nodded. "I know, but they aren't sick. They are simply undertaking the most natural act. They shouldn't need to be in a hospital to have to do that."

"In most cases, I completely agree with you," Patrick placated. "But we've both visited houses that leave much to be desired with respect to general hygiene. You have to admit that for those women, it is probably safer for them to be in a clinically clean environment."

Shelagh shrugged. "In general, it's not those mothers-to-be who are choosing to go in." She sighed. "I just remember Sister Julienne describing her experience. It was so," she paused as she looked for the right word. "So impersonal. They haven't even met their midwife before they go in."

"Are you talking about what's right for the mother, or what would feel right for you?" Patrick asked intuitively.

"I know I'd prefer someone I know to deliver my baby," Shelagh replied firmly.

Patrick smiled lovingly at his wife. "The one thing we both know is that medicine and treatment moves forward all the time. We need to move forward with it," he advised.

"That might be more true than you think, Patrick," the slight nurse demurred. "If patients keep deserting us like this, we'll soon be obsolete."

"Don't worry, Mum," Timothy chipped in. "There's an Obstetrics article in this month's Lancet about length of hospital stay post delivery."

"Is there now?" The Scottish nurse sounded intrigued.

"You see? Community midwives and nurses will still be needed if patients are going to be discharged as quickly as possible." Patrick sounded unperturbed by the issue.

Shelagh shook her head. "To my mind, all that does it make it all the more impersonal."

"Adapt and survive," Patrick advised. "I really don't think you have anything to worry about." He frowned as another thought crossed his mind. "Wait a minute, how is it that you've read 'my' Lancet already? I say no reading until I've finished with it." He couldn't quite keep the grin off his face. He was exceptionally proud of his son, and fervently hoped his current passion for education continued for the long run.

"Sorry, Dad." Tim sounded nothing of the sort as he stood up and grabbed his father's now empty plate. "I can't help it if the elderly are too slow to take their opportunities while they can." He gave his father a wide berth as he headed into the kitchen while Patrick made the most of looking affronted.

Shelagh smirked, grateful for the levity and security her husband and son gave her.

* * *

Delia was back at her books. Phyllis had at least been discrete enough to wait until after dinner before offering her opinion and advice on dealing with consultants. The northern nurse had led Delia into her office and then made her thoughts quite clear. Delia gritted her teeth and took the admonishment in silence but the second Nurse Crane finished, she excused herself and returned to her room. She looked up when the door opened and Patsy poked her head in. "Is it safe to come in?" She asked with a grin.

"What's that supposed to mean?" After the day she had so far, Delia was automatically defensive.

The tall red head entered and sat down on the bed, leaning back on her hands. "Phyllis was telling us that you've been tearing strips off the consultants."

"Well this is escalating rapidly," Delia commented, exasperated. She huffed, and then described the events to Patsy. "I think there's been a massive overreaction because, heaven forbid a _nurse_ question a consultant." She was angry again. "Pats, he barely looked at her. If you asked him to describe her tomorrow I bet he'd be able to say how many weeks pregnant she was and how many pregnancies she'd had but wouldn't be able to tell you the colour of her hair."

Patsy was frowning. "Mrs Jenkins. I think I helped deliver her last baby. She must be in her 40s now."

Delia nodded. "Yes. I'm guessing that's why her husband wants her to have the baby in hospital. I think she's regretting that now."

Patsy shrugged. "Well, she can still change her mind. She was only at clinic yesterday so it wouldn't be any bother, but it would be up to her to make the decision."

Delia got up and sat next to Patsy on the bed. "I know. It's just the more I read, the more worried I get."

"Read about what?" Patsy asked curiously.

Delia showed the red-head the page she was reading. "It talks about placenta abruption."

Patsy's eyes widened. "That's a bit of an extreme worry, isn't it?"

Delia sighed. "Not you, too," she grumbled, her shoulders sagging resignedly.

Patsy gave her a half smile. "Delia, I've never come across a case, and I don't recall any of the others dealing with one either. There are a whole ream of complications described for childbirth, which is why they're in text books, but don't they also tell you how rare they are?" Patsy wanted to be supportive but she wanted Delia to be objective too.

"Yes," Delia acknowledged.

Patsy looked steadily at the younger woman. "So, it's possible that Dr. Benson is right?"

Delia shrugged. "Possibly," she admitted. The brunette looked at Patsy. "But I just don't feel right about this. He should have at least done some tests to rule it out."

Patsy shook her head. "I'm not sure that there are tests, other than to do another X-Ray. They will be reluctant to do that with the baby so close to due date because of the radiation risk." She sighed as she took in Delia's dejected features. "I'm sure Dr. Benson is just as pompous as you describe, but he also knows about complications in pregnancy. If he was worried and tests could be done, I'm sure he would have arranged them."

Delia shifted miserably. She knew Patsy was trying to comfort her, but she wasn't convinced. Eventually, she nodded, trying to accept Patsy's guidance.

Patsy could see that Delia was struggling. She took Delia's hand and rubbed circles on the back of it with her thumb. "Look, if you're really worried about Mrs. Jenkins, I'll pop by and have a chat with her. I know Shelagh saw her yesterday. I'll speak with her first and see what we can do. If nothing else, we can at least raise the numbers of routine checks we give her, just to keep an eye on her."

Delia smiled. "Thanks, Pats." She leaned forward and kissed her gently. "Now, I'd very much like to have my attention thoroughly diverted."

"That I can definitely manage," Patsy mumbled into her lips.

 **To be Continued...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary** : The Midwives' help is needed at a dramatic birth.

 **Disclaimer** : Call The Midwife belongs to the BBC and others - I am simply borrowing their wonderful characters.

 **Author's note:** Cross posted from Archive of Our Own. This is not my usual Patsy/Delia fic. I have tried to write a story that is much more similar to an actual episode of Call the Midwife. I have tried to include most of the regular characters - mainly because I very rarely write some of them. I'm not sure if this sort of story line has been done on the show before as I've only seen series 4 and 5. I think I have captured the emotional feel of the show, but I'd be happy to hear your thoughts about it.

My grateful thanks as always to Sittingonthis for her invaluable input into this. It has taken a long while for me to compose this, and it now looks very different to when I first started it. Thanks too must go to Jlynnsca for her wonderful editing skills.

* * *

Two pairs of eyes shot open in alarm when there was a knock at Delia's door at 2 o'clock in the morning. Instantly Patsy rolled from the bed and lay silently on the floor behind it. Delia grabbed the covers and practically threw them over where Patsy lay before heading to the door. She rubbed her face, trying to get her brain to work as she yanked the door open, although she was careful not to open it completely. She frowned as she saw Barbara looking at her anxiously. "What's wrong?" She asked, her voice croaky with sleep.

"I am so sorry to bother you, and I know you technically aren't even on call, but I've just had the most bizarre telephone conversation." Barbara was already breathless and anxious.

"Go on," Delia prompted, squinting into the light of the hall.

"A Mrs Jenkins rang. She said that she's in a lot of pain but is refusing to go to the hospital. She said that she wanted you to come out." Barbara sounded very confused by the request.

"Me? I can't come out. I'm not qualified." Delia was equally baffled.

"I know. I told her that but she was very insistent. I offered to go out and see her, but she said that she only wanted to see you." Barbara looked apologetically at the smaller brunette."Delia, I know this isn't the norm, but would you come with me? I really think someone needs to see her. If she sees you with me, hopefully she'll trust me enough to do an exam."

The Welsh nurse nodded, her mind already picking up speed as she realised the potential severity of the situation. "All right. Can you give me 5 minutes to get dressed and run a comb through my hair?"

Barbara nodded. "Of course. I'll sort you out a bike and some kit."

The second the door was shut, Delia spun round. Patsy got up from behind the bed slowly. "Do you think she saw me?"

"I don't think so. She was too busy worrying about the patient and having to wake me up." Delia smiled. "Is your heart hammering?"

"Can you hear it?" Patsy sounded serious.

"No, you fool. Mine's doing the same. Do me a favour and reassemble my bed while I get dressed."

Patsy slipped back into her own room five minutes later and Delia met up with Barbara at the bicycle shed another minute after that.

"Sorry," Barbara apologised again.

"Don't be silly. We need to help. Do you know where we're going?"

"Yes. I've set the dynamos and there's a bag for you on the back. Ready?" The vicar's daughter asked quietly.

Delia nodded and the two nurses cycled quickly to Mrs Jenkins' residence.

When they arrived, the door was already ajar. Barbara led the way in. "Hello? It's the midwives," she called out clearly.

"Up here." A man's voice beckoned them from upstairs and the two women hurried up to the bedroom.

Inside the bedroom, Mrs Jenkins was lying on the bed. She was pale and sweating profusely. She couldn't appear to stay still. Barbara assumed that was because she was in pain.

"Are you Nurse Busby?" The man asked.

"No, I am." Delia stepped into the room. "I'm sorry, we haven't been introduced?" She looked enquiringly at the man.

"Harry. Harry Jenkins."

"Alright, Mr Jenkins. We're here now. How about you put the kettle on, and give us a few minutes to do an examination?" Delia suggested. He nodded reluctantly and left the room.

"Mrs Jenkins," Barbara began.

"Sally. Call me Sally," Mrs Jenkins insisted.

"Of course. I spoke with you on the telephone. My name is Barbara. I've brought Delia - Nurse Busby, with me, as you asked. Do you trust me to examine you now?"

Sally nodded cautiously.

Delia opened her bag and grabbed a sphygmomanometer and stethoscope. "Sally, I might not be able to do all the exam, but I can do your general observations. Do you mind if I take your blood pressure?"

"You can do what you like, Nurse. I trust you." Sally looked exhausted and pinched.

It took three attempts to get a reading. In that time Barbara had managed to listen for the baby's heartbeat and do an internal exam.

They exchanged anxious looks. "I'm reading it as 80/55," Delia stated.

Barbara kept her face neutral but Delia could see the worry. "Radial pulse?" She asked almost innocuously.

Delia nodded, but grasped Sally's wrist again, almost for her own reassurance. "It's quite thready, but it's there."

Barbara nodded. "Sally, is the pain you're experiencing constant?"

Sally nodded.

Barbara wanted to be sure. "It's not coming in waves, or easing back every now and then?"

"No, Nurse." Mrs Jenkins' face was scrunched up in pain and she was having difficulty breathing. "What's wrong?" She gasped.

"You are crowning, Mrs Jenkins. But I need to arrange an ambulance. You need to be in hospital." Barbara was firm in her assertion.

"I don't want to go back there. Can't I have my baby here?" The question tailed off as Sally began to wail in pain.

Barbara looked anxiously at Delia.

"Sally. I'm going to speak to Harry and ask him to call for an ambulance," the Welsh woman stated as she got up.

"Not you, too. You know I hated it there."

Delia shot Barbara a quick look, before looking back at the pregnant woman. "You're crowning, which means you may well give birth at home. But we need to get you into hospital as quickly as possible. It's the right thing to do for you and baby." She looked steadily at Sally and waited for her to nod agreement before hurrying downstairs.

Within minutes she was back and both nurses donned surgical gowns, caps and gloves before continuing.

Mrs Jenkins was sobbing with pain now, and Barbara asked Delia to administer gas and air, while she managed the delivery.

"Mrs Jenkins, once the ambulance comes, we'll make a decision on where you're at with the labour as to whether we go immediately or not."

Delia had the feeling Barbara was simply appeasing the woman and that they would be making an urgent dash to the hospital as soon as the ambulance crew arrived.

Barbara looked at Delia in frustration. "The trouble is, because Sally is in so much pain, it's hard for me to time any contractions. I have a feeling it could be any moment." She had tried resting her hand on the woman's extended abdomen, but Sally had cried out in pain.

Delia nodded and felt for Sally's pulse at her wrist again. After several attempts she looked at Barbara. "Can you locate a femoral pulse?"

The midwife looked up in alarm, before explaining to Sally where she was about to press. "Yes, it's there." Barbara took a moment, mentally going through the options for labour.

Suddenly Sally tensed again, before going limp. "Sally?" Delia called anxiously, instantly feeling at the woman's neck for a carotid pulse. "Sally!" She shook the woman gently, trying to rouse her, but to no avail. "Barbara, she's unconscious. She's clammy and white."

Barbara nodded and did another pelvic examination. "I'm going to have to do an episiotomy and perform a forceps delivery."

Delia grabbed her bag. "You look after the baby, I'll look after Mrs. Jenkins." She lay Mrs Jenkins down and then moved her to one side, tucking a rolled up towel underneath her.

Barbara located the kit she needed and worked as quickly as she could while Delia held the unconscious woman's leg, giving Barbara the room to do what she needed to.

It felt like an age but eventually Barbara managed to locate the forceps securely and she began to work the baby out. Delia watched the other nurse carefully, but kept one eye on Mrs Jenkins, frequently feeling for a pulse as the woman grew paler and paler.

"The head's clear," Barbara announced, just as the ambulance crew arrived.

"Her pulse is getting weaker, Barbara." Delia's voice remained calm but there was no mistaking the urgency of her tone.

Barbara positioned her hands as best as she could and then pulled the baby again. It came out in a rapid motion, and was followed by a deluge of blood. "Oh, God."

"Concentrate on the baby," Delia instructed.

Even as Barbara clamped the umbilical cord, she knew that they were in dire straits. "The blood supply to the baby has been compromised." She was starting to feel her anxiety rising.

"I've lost her pulse." Delia looked up at the ambulance crew. "Help me with resuscitation. Now." She grabbed the emergency resuscitation kit. "We need to get her off the bed. How's the baby?"

Barbara was already trying to stimulate the baby. Nothing was working. She grabbed the neonatal mucus extractor and tried to clear the airway but that wasn't the problem. "Baby isn't responding."

Delia looked up from where she had been ventilating Sally. "We've got to get them to hospital now."

"We're only allowed to take one patient at a time," one of the ambulance men pointed out.

Barbara looked panicked. "Can't you get another ambulance here? We can't leave someone here alone."

"We're not," Delia stated determinedly. She looked the ambulance man. "Get a carry sheet so we can get Mrs Jenkins downstairs. Barbara, take the baby downstairs now and wait there until we're ready to get in the ambulance. It'll be too cold for baby in the ambulance right now."

"Now hang on a minute, Nurse. I don't know who you think you are, but we're only supposed to take one patient."

Delia affixed him with a baleful stare. "You only take one patient when you have no other assistance. Nurse Gilbert will be looking after baby; we'll be looking after Mrs Jenkins. Now hurry. We've no time to lose." Her tone and demeanour brooked no argument, particularly as she delivered the directive while she was continuing to assist with resuscitation and the man hurried off as instructed without further argument.

Barbara was equally surprised. Delia had just taken charge of the situation as if she had been born to do it. She also knew that her decision was absolutely the right thing to do. Wrapping the baby tightly, she began two-fingered chest compressions as she exited the room, knowing that she could concentrate more on her technique once she was downstairs.

The bed was covered in blood. It was far more than would be expected at a normal delivery. Not overly worrying over the patient's dignity, Delia grabbed a large dressing and plugged Mrs Jenkins up as best she could, before covering her with a blanket. Upon the ambulance man's return, they worked together to get her downstairs while doing their best to continue with resuscitation. Delia had the sinking feeling that it was a lost cause, but she would not give up on her.

* * *

The waiting area outside Resuscitation was dimly lit. Barbara sat with Mr Jenkins in silence. When they had arrived at the hospital there had been two teams waiting. One had led Nurse Gilbert and the baby to one area while Delia and the ambulance crew wheeled in Sally. Mr Jenkins had arrived at the hospital some time later, having to make his own way there as there had been no room in the ambulance for him as well. He had been directed to sit down on one of the benches.

When Nurse Gilbert emerged, her face white, he knew it was bad news.

"I am so sorry," she had begun, practically in tears.

Harry had shaken his head in disbelief but said nothing. His baby had died. There was nothing that could be said that would make it better.

The brown-haired nurse had sat next to Harry in an attempt to be supportive. He appreciated the company but Harry knew that she could do nothing to take away the terror of waiting. He couldn't even think about grieving the loss of his baby until he knew what had happened with his wife.

They waited for an indeterminate length of time before the doors to Resuscitation swung open again. A tall, older looking man with grey hair looked over his glasses at them. "Mr Jenkins?" He asked, wanting to confirm the man's identity.

Harry nodded nervously.

"My name is Dr Benson. I'm the obstetrics consultant," the older man introduced himself.

Mr Jenkins stood up, sensing bad news. He could see Nurse Gilbert stand alongside with him.

"What's happened? How's my wife?"

"I'm so terribly sorry Mr Jenkins."

Harry sat back down heavily, not hearing the rest of the words. "Why?" He whispered, his voice cracking.

"Your wife had what's called a placental abruption," Dr Benson explained. "Unfortunately this meant that as she gave birth she began to bleed. We couldn't stop the bleeding in time I'm afraid."

"And the baby?" Mr Jenkins' voice was hollow.

"I'm sorry. Because your wife started to bleed while she was delivering, the baby's blood supply was interrupted. There was nothing we could do for her either."

"Her?" Harry whispered brokenly.

"Yes. You had a daughter." The doctor paused. "I'm so terribly sorry. But this sort of complication is virtually undetectable and incredibly rare. There was simply nothing we could do."

Dr Benson patted Harry on the shoulder awkwardly before excusing himself. "I'll leave you with this nurse," he stated as he retreated.

As he turned around, he saw Nurse Busby staring at him balefully. He frowned. "Tragic case," he muttered. "Almost impossible to diagnose."

Delia looked mutinous. "It didn't need to be like this," she stated coldly.

Dr Benson looked uncomfortable. "I'll be reviewing the case with the team in the morning. But for the moment, this will be recorded as an unanticipated medical emergency."

Delia tensed, clenching her hands in an attempt to suppress her fury, but she said nothing further. There was nothing else to say. The Welsh nurse sat down heavily next to Barbara. She had taken the delivery gown off, but a lot of blood had seeped through and stained her uniform underneath. Her hands looked raw where she had obviously scrubbed them vigorously. "What happens now?" She asked softly.

"We'll wait with Mr Jenkins until a nurse from A&E comes to collect him. Then we go home." Barbara spoke in a monotone. It was clear she was devastated.

* * *

It was almost 7am when Barbara and Delia finally returned to Nonnatus House. They had stayed and assisted at the hospital until it was clear nothing more could be done, and had then managed to get a lift from another ambulance crew back to the Jenkins's house so that they could collect their bicycles.

Mr Jenkins had been inconsolable at the hospital, and had clung onto Barbara, desperately begging her to tell him she was wrong and that Sally was all right. The young midwife had done her best to offer support, but had no words of comfort for him. Delia looked on with grim detachment, and determinedly forced down the anger she was feeling. That wouldn't do anyone any good.

The two women entered the Clinical Room and emptied their midwifery bags. It was done almost mechanically, and in silence. All Delia wanted to do was peel her uniform off and have a bath, but she knew that she had to clean the kit and replenish the bag first. She had no idea how she was going to find the strength to attend placement today. She was physically and mentally exhausted.

It was only when she noticed Barbara's shoulders shaking that Delia realised that the midwife was crying. The Welsh nurse closed the gap and embraced the tall brunette.

Barbara felt the pull of Delia's arms and stopped trying to hold her emotions in. She began to sob in earnest. The young midwife couldn't help but think of the family. How would Mr Jenkins be able to cope with the loss of his wife and their baby?

Barbara had dealt with tragedy before. She had always thought that the still-born Bisette baby was the worst situation imaginable. Any death of a baby in childbirth was horrific and it wasn't right to compare. But both mother and baby had been lost in this case. Barbara felt helpless and useless and simply devastated. Added to that, she was allowing herself to be comforted by Delia.

Barbara was very definitely the senior clinician out of the two, and yet it was Delia who had stepped up, taken control and was now providing Barbara with much needed support. Barbara couldn't help but accept the comfort, but at the same time, she felt both guilty and inadequate. It was cold comfort indeed.

For all her cheeky exuberance, it would appear that Delia had the same icily professional approach to emergencies as Patsy. No wonder they spent so much time together. Barbara knew that she was feeling vulnerable and irrational, but she couldn't help but wonder if she was truly cut out for midwifery when compared to the others.

Delia rubbed Barbara's arm gently and let the other woman cry. She knew that Barbara had a habit of wearing her heart on her sleeve and was envious of her ability to deal with her emotions so promptly. It also gave her an excuse not to deal with her own feelings, so she clamped down on them very firmly. Delia was good at dealing with relatively low levels of stress or discomfort, but when things threatened to overwhelm, her fallback position was to cut herself off from thinking about it altogether and distract herself with diversions. It was actually quite a relief to offer comfort to Barbara right now as it meant that she didn't have to face her own feelings.

The two women looked up when they heard footsteps approach. "I've had a telephone call from the hospital," Nurse Crane advised them in a soft voice. "Go to the kitchen. The kettle's boiling. I'll finish up here."

Barbara glanced anxiously at Delia before nodding. "What did the hospital say?" She asked.

"We'll talk about it when I'm done here. I won't be long."

Delia wasn't sure she liked the sound of that but she took Barbara by the hand and led her into the kitchen. They stopped when they saw Patsy and Trixie waiting for them, grim looks on their faces.

Trixie simply nodded towards the table and poured tea into waiting mugs. Delia guided Barbara to sit down, but did not take her own seat, instead gesturing at the front of her uniform. "I need a bath," she muttered. She knew that the others wanted to help and provide support, but Delia wasn't ready for that yet. She wasn't ready to talk about her feelings. She was angry, and she didn't want to have that anger rationalised away. She wanted it to burn inside her for a while. It was the only feeling she could cope with right now.

"I'll run one for you," Patsy offered, stepping towards the shorter woman.

"I can run my own bath," Delia snapped, before inhaling sharply and looking at Patsy apologetically. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. I just need to get a move on or I'll be late for work."

"They aren't expecting you on the ward today, Nurse Busby. Take a seat and drink some tea. Sister Julienne will be along presently." Nurse Crane was the epitome of efficiency but her features displayed her concern.

Delia reluctantly sat down next to Barbara. Nurse Crane sat opposite them, with Patsy and Trixie flanking her. Delia felt exposed and uncomfortable, and could sense Patsy staring at her. The Welsh nurse deliberately kept her gaze away from the red-head.

Nurse Crane did not wait for Sister Julienne. "Now then, I think it might be helpful if you tell us what happened," she requested gently.

Barbara shot a pained look at Delia before staring at her hands. She then explained the telephone call and her rationale for taking Delia with her. Her voice was hoarse and strained.

"Why didn't you seek a senior midwife?" Nurse Crane probed.

"I didn't know what the issue was at the time. Sally knows... _knew_ Delia so I thought it would reassure her."

Phyllis regarded the two brunette nurses carefully. "Your empathy does you credit, Nurse Gilbert but it's certainly not standard procedure to visit a patient in the middle of the night with an unqualified midwife."

Delia rolled her eyes but bit down on an angry retort. She wasn't sure what the purpose of this discussion was, but it was not helping her and she wasn't convinced that it was helping Barbara either.

Nurse Crane continued, looking at Barbara. "Hmmm. Once you were there it must have been obvious that something was seriously wrong. Why didn't you summon one of us?"

Delia stiffened. This felt like an exercise in laying blame and there was only one person culpable in her mind. "I instructed Mrs. Jenkins's husband to call for an ambulance, Nurse Crane. That way I could stay with Barbara and assist in whatever way I could." Her voice was barely above a whisper but it was icily controlled.

Nurse Crane nodded. "What treatment did you provide?" She looked back at Nurse Gilbert.

Barbara continued to stare at her hands. "There wasn't much treatment to give. Mrs Jenkins became unconscious and I had to do a forceps delivery. Once baby was delivered, it was obvious that she was haemorrhaging and that the placenta had been compromised."

"Did you raise Mrs Jenkins's legs? What measures did you take to compensate for shock?"

"Nurse Crane, now is not the time to dig into detail." Trixie had heard enough. She could see Barbara crumbling in front of her, and Delia becoming so tense she could snap at any second. Both reactions were perfectly understandable.

"I'm sorry, Nurse Franklin but incidents such as these are so rare, it is important to learn from them."

"She's _not_ a lesson!" Barbara looked up, her face flush with anger. "She's a person. A woman." Barbara choked back a sob. "A wife and mother. And now she's dead. And there was nothing I could do to help her, or the baby." She stood suddenly, her chair flying back and tipping over with the force. "I'm going to lie down. I've got a headache."

"I'm sorry, Nurse Gilbert but I'm afraid there is another task that needs to be completed first." Sister Julienne entered the kitchen accompanied by Sgt Noakes.

"You can't be serious. They aren't in any condition to provide a statement now." Patsy was aghast.

Sgt Noakes looked extremely uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, but we're required to take statements from all those involved with an unexpected death."

Barbara paled. "Am I under suspicion?" She could feel her heart rate accelerating.

"Absolutely not. It's simply procedure," the quietly spoken policeman explained.

Delia stood and righted Barbara's chair, gesturing for the taller woman to sit down. "Take a few minutes, Barbara. Sit with Trixie for a bit. I'll go first," she told her softly, squeezing her arm in support.

"Do you want someone with you?" Patsy asked, stepping forward again. She so wanted to give Delia some comfort but that would be impossible until they had the chance to be alone. She could hear the tremor in Delia's voice and knew that she was barely keeping it together, but she looked more angry than upset. Patsy didn't want Delia to end up saying something she might regret in her statement.

"That won't be necessary, Nurse Mount. I will escort Nurse Busby and then Nurse Gilbert," Sister Julienne advised. She looked at the rest of the staff. "In the meantime, there is still work to be done. While I appreciate that this is a truly devastating set of circumstances, we have other patients to deal with." She looked at Nurse Crane. "I have already sent Sister Mary Cynthia out on rounds and Sister Winifred has gone to the clinic to assist Nurse Turner. Perhaps Nurse Franklin can be placed on telephone duty until the statements have been completed."

Phyllis nodded curtly. "That's a most suitable suggestion." She looked to where Patsy and Trixie were still standing and smiled sympathetically. "I know that you want to help your friends but we need to carry on. Nurse Mount, can you attend your district rounds?"

Patsy sighed, wanting to object, but Delia was already leaving with Sgt Noakes and Sister Julienne. The Welsh nurse hadn't even looked at her before she went. Patsy knew that she was keeping everything contained and that it would only be a matter of time before Delia cracked. She so desperately wanted to be with her for that, but knew that was impossible.

 **To be concluded...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary** : Nonnatus House must deal with the aftermath of a disastrous birth.

 **Disclaimer** : Call The Midwife belongs to the BBC and others - I am simply borrowing their wonderful characters.

 **Author's note:** Cross posted from Archive of Our Own. This is not my usual Patsy/Delia fic. I have tried to write a story that is much more similar to an actual episode of Call the Midwife. I found this part particularly difficult to do as I was sorely tempted to follow up every opening to the story and complete every loop. That would have extended the length of this greatly however and changed the whole tone of the story. It's been very hard to be so disciplined and stick to the plot - a real challenge for me.

My grateful thanks as always to Sittingonthis for her invaluable input into this. It has taken a long while for me to compose this, and it now looks very different to when I first started it. Thanks too must go to Jlynnsca for her wonderful editing skills.

* * *

Barbara stared at the large cross that adorned the convent chapel and sighed. After providing a statement for the police, she had excused herself for a lie down. Trixie had offered to stay with her, but she had refused, hiding behind a stiff upper lip of bravado, but secretly not wanting to feel obliged to talk about the whole thing anymore. She already felt inadequate. The young midwife was bone tired but she just could not get her mind to quieten enough to rest.

After tossing and turning for some time, Barbara got up again. Her first thought was to seek Delia out. At least she would not need to explain anything and they would have solace in each other's company. But Delia was not in her room so Barbara wandered listlessly around the now quiet convent before being drawn to the chapel.

It was only to be expected she supposed. Having grown up immersed in religion and faith, it was only right that she should be here to pray. To seek guidance and clarity. To ask forgiveness for her shortcomings. To pray for Mrs Jenkins and the baby, who had not even lived long enough to be christened and therefore would have no place in Heaven.

Instead, Barbara felt frustrated and disappointed. It felt unfair and wrong that this had happened. It certainly didn't feel like the work of God. Not the God she worshipped and loved. She had heard many lessons from her father, and from Tom, about tests of faith. The severest tests demonstrated the strongest faith. Right now, that felt like a glib excuse because no loving god would choose to take a mother and baby away from her family; not in that way. Not when there were children on earth who needed her. And not when the baby was taken so suddenly that she had no place in Heaven.

Barbara didn't even want to think about what this meant about her own skills, and place within the team at Nonnatus. Was this a message from God telling her that she wasn't good enough? She still saw herself as the junior midwife in comparison to Trixie and Patsy. Now, it seemed that Delia was overtaking her, too. It would appear that a permanently cheerful disposition and eagerness to help just wasn't enough. Of course, it felt self-indulgent and cravenly to focus on her own failings. And that meant that she wouldn't be able to talk about her doubts to Tom, or anyone really.

Barbara was disturbed from her thoughts by someone approaching. She sniffed and hurriedly brushed away her tears before looking up to see Sister Winifred approaching. The brunette gritted her teeth. It was bad enough that she was suffering a crisis of faith and confidence. Barbara wasn't sure she would be able to tolerate the well-meaning sister pontificate about God's will. Right now, she didn't think there were words that would placate her, or provide any sort of reassurances regarding her faith or ability.

Sister Winifred sat down next to Barbara silently and simply nodded a greeting. Then, she reached over and took one of Barbara's hands in her own and looked up at the altar. She said nothing. Barbara didn't need to hear about having her faith tested. Not from Sister Winifred. Not right now. She needed a friend.

Sister Winifred knew she had a reputation for overly earnest evangelism. Quite often, she couldn't help but make sure that everyone knew her opinions about living by the word of the Lord. Her experience with Dorothy Whitmore however, had given her much to reflect upon. The young woman having an affair with a married man was bad enough. Falling pregnant was unforgivable. Or at least Sister Winifred had initially decided that. Miss Whitmore was a teacher. She should have had standards. She should never have been tempted to sin.

Instead of providing the much needed support of a friend, Winifred had judged Dorothy, and distanced herself from her, sticking to loudly declared principles as determined in the Bible. That action had ended up with Miss Whitmore attempting to abort the baby and nearly losing her own life. Despite her personal views, Sister Winifred had subsequently sat with Miss Whitmore as she recovered, and listened as the woman voiced her almost overwhelming fears. It was a lesson in humility and the work of Jesus Christ that she sorely needed.

Of course, the two situations were not remotely similar. But the principles of support were the same. It was stronger than judgement or rationale. It had a greater and more worthy impact. So Sister Winifred said nothing. It was too soon for the young midwife to feel better. She would sit with Barbara for as long as she needed company, and in the meantime, use the time to pray for her and Delia, as well as the Jenkins family.

Barbara sobbed, surprised and relieved at Sister Winifred's actions. It was exactly what she needed and she now perversely felt guilty to think that Sister Winifred wouldn't deliver. Leaning into the young nun, Barbara found that there was comfort in silence and with friends.

* * *

Sister Julienne tapped lightly on the front door and stepped back to wait for it to open. She caught herself smoothing down the front of her habit in an unconscious gesture of ensuring she looked presentable. The senior nun frowned ruefully to herself. It didn't matter how many years of service to the Lord she provided, it would seem that she would forever have a sliver of vanity within her, even if it was on the premise of maintaining respectability.

Sister Julienne looked back up when she heard the door open. "Mr. Jenkins? My name is Sister Julienne. I'm from Nonnatus House."

Harry nodded mutely and stood to one side, silently gesturing for the nun to enter the house.

Sister Julienne followed the hallway down to the end and found herself in a small kitchen area. There were piles of clothes on the small dining table, and the sink was full of dirty crockery and utensils.

"Sit down, Sister. "I'll make you a cup of tea," Mr Jenkins offered.

"Please, Mr. Jenkins. I did not come here to give you additional work. I came to offer my assistance," Sister Julienne explained.

Harry sat down opposite the nun, looking lost. "I don't even know where to start, Sister," he admitted brokenly.

Sister Julienne reached over and clasped his hand, in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. "I'm sure this must be completely overwhelming for you. I had no intention of making anything worse for you. I just wanted to help if I could."

Harry nodded, sniffing. "My sister has the kids," he stated dully. "She took them away so I could get the house tidy." The brown-haired man looked at Sister Julienne, his eyes turning flinty. "You're not going to sit there and tell me that this is God's will are you?"

"No, Mr. Jenkins." Sister Julienne could see the surprise and confusion on the widower's face.

"So it wasn't God's will?"

"I haven't said that either, Mr. Jenkins," Sister Julienne responded mildly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" The anger was back.

"I can no more interpret God's will, than anyone else," Sister Julienne admitted. "But I do know that the Lord expects me to act with kindness and with charity, and to help those in greatest need."

Harry scoffed. "Charity won't get my wife and baby back," he spat.

"Nothing will," Sister Julienne returned quietly. "I have no answers that will give you comfort right now, Mr. Jenkins. I don't think anyone could have." She shrugged. "There is a reason why this happened. Why things like this happen," Julienne qualified. "But sometimes those reasons are never revealed to us."

Harry stared at Sister Julienne for a long moment before running a hand through his hair. "Then why are you here?"

"I am here to help," Julienne replied calmly.

The widower bit down on another retort and instead surveyed the mess in the kitchen area. He then glanced towards the ceiling momentarily before returning his gaze towards the nun. There was a hint of fear in his eyes. "I haven't even been upstairs yet. I don't know what to do." Harry's voice caught as he admitted it, and he bit back a sob. "I don't know what to do," he repeated desperately.

Sister Julienne squeezed his hand even as she nodded to herself. "Let's start with something practical shall we? If you can point me in the direction of cleaning materials including bleach, cloths and a bucket, I will go upstairs. If you could also show me where your bed sheets are, I'll remake the bed, too."

Harry shook his head miserably. "I couldn't possibly ask that of you," he muttered, appalled at such a thought.

"Mr. Jenkins, our Order is quite used to hard work, and God's will has always indicated that we should help those in need. It will be no trouble for me to assist you in this way. And if we are here together, perhaps we can look at each immediate task that needs to be done?" She smiled softly at the grieving widower. "I have no ego to appease or a belief that I have the power to make you feel better. It is not within my gift, and neither should it be. But perhaps I can assist with some small tasks. We can start together," Julienne offered kindly. "And after all, every journey needs a starting point, no matter how enormous the challenge."

Harry nodded shakily. "All right, Sister." He took a deep breath. "If it's not too much bother."

Sister Julienne shook her head. "Perhaps you could do the washing up while I am upstairs. And then we can sit and have a cup of tea and review the next set of chores?" She suggested.

"You make it sound so easy," Harry muttered.

"That was not my intention, Mr Jenkins. I apologise. I cannot begin to imagine your grief. I refer only to some menial tasks, that may at least provide distraction for you. And we do want the children to return to a tidy house," Sister Julienne tried to appease.

"All right. I'll wash up. But can you sit down and explain what happened to Sally? I want to understand what happened. All I've been told is the name of what she had. Something beginning with p. Plate something?"

Sister Julienne decided not to interrupt with the correct nomenclature and simply nodded for the man to continue.

"I've never heard of it. And no one's told me what it actually was. Do you know?"

Sister Julienne nodded. She knew very well that it was a comfort to seek out knowledge, no matter how painful the facts.

"When we sit down with tea, I will do my best to explain what I know of the situation. Would that help?" She offered.

Harry shrugged and roughly wiped his eyes. "I dunno. But I can't feel any worse."

Sister Julienne stood. "Then let's get started."

* * *

Delia seethed as she strode back to Nonnatus House. She had been summoned to the Maternity Hospital in order to listen to the case conference regarding Mrs Jenkins. It had been clear from the outset that there was a cover-up operation in place. The notes were all examined and reviewed, and Dr. Benson stressed the point that placental abruption was almost impossible to diagnose and that there were no indicators prior to Mrs. Jenkins's bleed at home.

When Delia mentioned the ward round, she was told in no uncertain terms that nurses were not allowed to diagnose, and trainee midwifes were most certainly not allowed to offer a professional opinion, therefore her comments would not be part of any record. Delia knew how Dr. Turner treated the midwives at Nonnatus. He respected their opinions and judgement, and listened to their concerns carefully. It felt wrong to try and hide a mistake, but she supposed that Dr. Benson was worried about reputation, both his and the hospital's.

Delia had been furious but it was an impotent rage. She had stalked out of the meeting without permission, not caring what Matron Cox decided to report back. She was only certain of one thing. If the only way she could become a midwife was to train at the Maternity Hospital, then she would need to reassess her options and do something else. She wouldn't go back to Male Surgical either. She would have to go for another speciality. Perhaps paediatrics.

Right now, however, all she felt was angry. Angry that Mr. Jenkins had been widowed and lost a child, and angry that she had let Mrs. Jenkins down somehow. Her anger with the department just added to her mood. She should have been able to do something. It was not fair.

Delia entered the convent and tried to hurry up the stairs without being spotted. She grimaced when she heard her name called and she turned back.

"Delia, we're having lunch. Did you want some?" It was Sister Mary Cynthia, kind and softly spoken as always. Delia bit down on her temper but she knew she was struggling now. "I think I'm just going to go to my room."

"Are you sure?" Mary Cynthia's concern washed over her but Delia didn't want it.

"Yes. I just need some rest."

Patsy stepped out from the kitchen and joined them. Delia knew that she wouldn't be able to look at her without crumbling so she kept her gaze firmly on the small nun.

"Deels, are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine. I just need to lie down for a while." Delia could hear the brittleness of her voice and spun away without catching Patsy's eye.

Patsy opened her mouth to call after her again but was stopped by a hand laid gently on her forearm. "Give her a bit of time, Patsy. I don't think she's had a moment to herself since she got back," Sister Mary Cynthia advised sagely.

"I just wish I could help," Patsy sighed, staring up at the now empty staircase. She looked down at the kindly face of the young nun. "I don't know what to do," she admitted candidly.

"Just be there when she needs you."

Patsy nodded and they returned to the dining room. Lunch was a muted affair. Barbara simply pushed some items around her plate and said nothing at all while the others struggled to find a neutral conversation. Rather surprisingly, it was Barbara herself who broke the tension. "When am I back on the rota Nurse Crane?"

Phyllis looked up. "Well I was rather hoping you would be back tomorrow, Nurse Gilbert. We don't have the staff to allow the luxury of moping."

Barbara smiled with relief. "On proper duty? Not on some sort of probation or monitoring?" She checked.

The northern nurse frowned in confusion. "Why on earth would you think that? You've had a horrible experience that few of us ever deal with. I think we would be all questioning our abilities after dealing with something like that. But you were logical, methodical and compassionate, Nurse Gilbert. What monitoring is to be done?"

The brunette shrugged. "I don't know. After this morning, I've been wondering what on earth I could have done differently that would have made any difference."

"And that was the purpose of the morning. It wasn't to apportion blame or suggest any shortcomings." Phyllis smiled kindly at Barbara. "I apologise if that was the impression I gave."

Barbara nodded shakily, suddenly feeling emotional again.

Trixie looked between Phyllis and Barbara carefully. "Perhaps Barbara can join me at the Clinic tomorrow morning as a good way to get back into the swing of things."

Phyllis nodded curtly. "That's an eminently sensible suggestion," she agreed. She cast a glance towards the staircase. "But there's still one issue to resolve," she muttered sadly.

Patsy stiffened. "I hardly think Delia should be punished for any of this," she blurted.

Phyllis frowned. "Punished? I wasn't thinking that at all, Nurse Mount. But she still needs training, and I fear she may be loathe to return to the Maternity Unit now."

Patsy's face fell and once more, she wondered just how she could help Delia.

* * *

Delia was lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling when she heard the knock at her door. It was the last straw. All she had wanted was a little space to sort her thoughts and feelings and yet no-one seemed to care enough to give her that.

Practically growling, Delia stormed to the door and yanked it open, fully intent on unleashing her fury on the person who had disturbed her.

Sister Monica Joan stood in the doorway, holding a cup of tea that rather miraculously still had a biscuit balanced on the saucer. She smiled at Delia sympathetically.

The dam broke.

Delia sobbed and flung herself at the elderly nun, holding onto the woman even after sending the tea flying.

Monica Joan was taken by surprise but did nothing but hug the distraught young woman. Somehow she managed to get her old body to sink down with Delia and they ended up sat on the floor. She leaned against the door jamb and held onto Delia tightly as the nurse cried loudly, burying her head in the sister's lap.

Sister Monica Joan disregarded the aches and pains of her joints, and ignored the discomfort of the cold hard floor. This young, vibrant nurse needed her. It broke her heart to see Delia this way. Sister Monica Joan had a soft spot for her, as she did with all the young midwives at the convent. She thrived on their youth and energy. They stopped her fixating on the frailty of age.

She stroked her hair absently and picked up the biscuit that had landed rather fortuitously within arm's reach. After a quick inspection, she blew a speck of fluff off the biscuit before eating it. After all, waste not, want not.

The second Patsy heard Delia's cry she shot up the stairs, taking them two at a time. She halted when she saw the small Welsh nurse being comforted by Sister Monica Joan. Her heart clenched painfully to see her girlfriend in such distress but she didn't want to encroach.

Sister Monica Joan looked up and beckoned the red-haired nurse over. Patsy hesitated but approached when the nun repeated the action.

"Child, you are loved here. Let those that love you help you," the nun told Delia softly.

Delia looked up, her face ravaged by tears and saw Patsy crouching next to Sister Monica Joan, looking on in concern.

"Sorry," she gulped, between ragged breaths.

Patsy shook her head. "You've got nothing to apologise for," she told her. "Come on, let's get you more comfortable." Gently, she disentangled the diminutive nurse from Sister Monica Joan and led her back to her bed. "Wait there," she instructed softly. The midwife turned and then helped Sister Monica Joan to her feet, holding onto her while she got her balance back. "Will you be all right?" she asked.

The nun placed a hand gently on Patsy's face. "Your friend needs you. Look after her."

Patsy nodded. "Can you tell...?"

"I will let the irascible Nurse Crane know that you are indisposed," Sister Monica Joan assured her before looking at the wall that now had tea splashed all over it. "And that there is a mess to be cleaned up. My old bones are too fragile to bend over and do that." She turned to leave before Patsy had time to respond.

Patsy looked at the spilled tea and then at Delia. There was no contest with her priorities. She shut the door softly and then sat down next to Delia. "Lie down, Deels. Let me hold you." Somehow she knew that Delia still wasn't ready to talk, and that actually it didn't matter.

Delia nodded and did just that, sighing shakily as she felt Patsy's long arms wrap round her. She had found her anchor again.

Delia knocked on the door of Sister Julienne's office and waited to be called in. When she had finally emerged from her room to forage for food, a neatly scripted note had been left on the table. Conscious that it was nearly time for Compline, she hurried to the office.

"Thank you for taking note of my request," Sister Julienne began mildly.

"I'm sorry that I've kept you waiting so long," Delia apologised immediately.

"I understand the reason for the delay. I'm just grateful that you have managed to find a source of comfort from this tragedy." Sister Julienne smiled softly before continuing. "I'm sure it will be no surprise to you that I received a telephone call from the hospital today."

"Something about my abrupt departure by any chance?" Delia couldn't help the bitter tone in her voice.

"Yes. Matron Cox seemed quite concerned."

"I didn't think there was any point in my staying any longer," Delia replied sullenly.

"Neither do I," Sister Julienne responded cryptically.

Delia looked at her sharply. "Does that mean I'm off the training program?"

"It means that you will no longer be training to be a midwife at the Maternity Unit," Sister Julienne replied formally.

Delia slumped in her seat. "Oh well. At least mam will be pleased," she muttered darkly.

"I'm afraid you misunderstand me. You will not be training at the Maternity Unit, but you will still be training." Sister Julienne advised.

"As long as I'm not going back there, I'm happy to do my training anywhere else," Delia assured her.

"You may come to regret that declaration. Nurse Crane and I will be your tutors and mentors for the duration of your training, and we are no easy task masters."

Delia felt a prick of tears behind her eyes but she blinked them back determinedly. "That's the only bit of good that's come out of all this," she stated, her voice hoarse.

Sister Julienne looked carefully at her young charge. "Nurse Busby, do not doubt your skills, or your fortitude. Nurse Crane and I would not waste time on a trainee that we didn't feel had the requisite skills to make the grade. But every experience is a learning experience, no matter how tragic and how testing." She smiled softly. "Now you must excuse me, or I will be late for Compline."

"Of course, Sister." Delia stood immediately and left promptly. Mulling over Sister Julienne's words, she changed course after she headed upstairs and knocked lightly on a bedroom door. "Barbara, are you in?"

 **~The End~**


End file.
